


It’s Always Bring Your Robin to Work Day

by audreycritter



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: Father Son Bonding, Gen, WE Office, fluff or as close as I can get, snippets over time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 15:35:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17185691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreycritter/pseuds/audreycritter
Summary: Tiny vignettes of Tim stopping by Bruce’s office over the years.





	It’s Always Bring Your Robin to Work Day

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Cerusee’s GoFundMe prompt drive.

The security guard did not look pleased.

Tim’s palms were sweaty on his school satchel and he could already hear the conversation with Jack over the phone, when the school called him to report a truancy and yelling at Tim over an international line was his version of good parenting.

It was okay, Tim knew he was busy. If he got caught causing trouble, then that was his own fault. It was why he should have just scaled the building instead, or maybe, gone to one of his usual haunts instead of changing it up.

“Listen,” Tim pled, while being escorted down the hall. “I have his private number. Look. I can call him right now.”

“No meetings without an appointment,” the guard said. He was mocking Tim and Tim could _feel_ it. He scowled up at the taller man. He wanted to spit _I took you to jail three months ago_ , because he had and that’s what led to this guy even having a job at WE. He held his tongue. 

Tim instead glanced at the exit sign above the side door, took a breath, and twisted on his heel. He sprinted, his bag slapping against his leg, while the guard yelled after him.

The elevator did not hurry for his jabbing finger so he fled up the stairs instead. He ran until his legs burned like Bruce had made him do an insane number of squats in the cave, up floor after floor after floor until he was sure the guard had given up.

Then, Tim trudged, panting to catch his breath. This was stupid, it was all stupid, he just wanted to—

He pushed the door open, ready to argue his way past the secretary because it was too late to turn back now.

The security guard was standing by the desk with a crooked and smug grin.

“Aw, _fudge_ ,” Tim muttered.

The office door swung open and Bruce was standing there, saying, “Mallory, I think Thai for lunch, if you want to— oh, Tim.”

Tim darted toward the opening, with a smirk up at the guard. He ducked under Bruce’s arm.

“Thai sounds great, B, I’m _starving_.”

“Thai for two, Mallory,” Bruce said, without missing a beat. “Thank you for bringing him up, Patrick.”

“No prob, Boss,” the guard said hollowly.

Inside the office, Tim spun to take it all in. The wide desk, the plush carpet, the couch with the suspicious indents in the leather cushions. 

“Oh good,” Tim said. “You took a nap. That’s great. School was super boring so I thought I’d come say hi.”

Bruce was making that face, the one where he looked like he might say the sort of thing a dad would say about school, and then his mouth relaxed.

Tim exhaled in relief while scanning the room. 

“Boring, huh?” Bruce said casually. “I could use some company.”

There was a wet bar against one wall, with a mini fridge and a Keurig. Tim made a beeline for it.

“I’m making coffee. Do you want some coffee?”

“Aren’t you a little young to be—” 

Tim kept moving while Bruce stopped and cleared his throat and stared out the window for a moment. Sometimes Bruce did better if Tim pretended he didn’t notice him getting weirdly silent or almost crying.

“Sure, Tim,” he said quietly. “Coffee sounds great.”

Tim rugged open the minifridge and peered inside.

“You have mocha syrup! Awesome!”

* * *

Tim slumped dramatically under the weight of his backpack and dragged his feet while walking by the secretary’s desk.

“Hi, Mallory,” he said, with a smile. 

“Hi, Tim, sweetie. He’s in a phone meeting.”

“I’ll just be really quiet,” Tim promised. “I’ve got some schoolwork to do.”

She nodded and slipped him a Reese’s Cup from a drawer on her desk. “One for you and one for the big guy. He won’t eat it if I give it to him.”

They shared conspiratorial smiles and Tim slipped it into his backpack, and then just as stealthily slipped into the office.

“—made myself very clear that we would not be changing the terms of the— no, don’t give me an excuse. It’s your damn job to do what I tell you to do. I asked you to secure the permits, not to try to save the company money. Yes, I’m well aware of the additional expense; those reimbursement policies are there for a reason, so WE doesn’t fuck people over when we…”

Bruce didn’t sound happy but his face lit up when he saw Tim shrugging his backpack onto the couch. He gave a tiny wave and went back to the phone. 

The school books in his bag were ignored and Tim hunted for his camera. He set up coffee to brew and then stood at the big window and focused his lens on the streets below.

Then he slumped down against the wall and snapped a few pictures of Bruce.

A few minutes later, he was sipping coffee while Bruce hung up the phone.

“You need Mountain Dew,” Tim said, nodding to the minifridge. 

Bruce ran a hand through his hair and leaned back in his chair with an irritated huff at the ceiling.

“I’m not your personal cafe, Tim,” he snapped.

Tim set a cup of coffee on the desk, topped with whipped cream just like Dick had told him to try.

Bruce glared at it for long seconds and then he sighed, leaned forward, and pressed the intercom button on his desk.

“Mallory. Order some Mountain Dew for the fridge in here.”

“Thanks,” Tim said, sitting cross legged on the desk. “Tough meeting?”

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said, rubbing his temple. He picked up the coffee.

“It’s okay. You need sleep,” Tim said cheerfully. “Want me to man the torpedoes for a bit?”

“Don’t you have a test to study for?” Bruce asked, raising an eyebrow. He glanced at the calendar spread on his desk. The box near Tim’s knee was filled with neat, condensed script with notes about a lunch meeting and Dick’s work hours and Tim’s civics test.

“Already did,” Tim said, scooting his knee to cover the box. “I’m going to fail anyway.”

“Tim,” Bruce said, a note of warning in his tone.

Tim laid across the desk, his head hanging off the edge. He gazed upside down at the sky outside. 

“If I fail the test, that’s four classes I’m failing. Then my dad has to come in for a meeting with the school to ‘evaluate my progress and fitness as a Penderton student.’”

“Alright,” Bruce said, in that soft way he had that made Tim feel all warm inside his chest. “Man the torpedoes, sport. I’ll get some sleep after all.”

Tim scrambled off the desk to sit in the big leather chair, and he kicked off the drawer to spin.

“There’s a Reese’s Cup for you in my backpack,” Tim said. He stopped spinning to rest his arms on the desk and look over the calendar. “I won’t tell Alfred you had it before lunch.”

“Tell Mallory what you want to eat,” Bruce mumbled around a mouthful of chocolate. He sounded already half asleep. “I’m fine with anything.”

Tim put Bruce’s face just to the left of the center of the frame and snapped a picture.

“Hey, B.”

“Mm?”

“Even pineapple pizza?”

“Don’t push it, Tim. A Reese’s Cup only gets you so far.”

“Okay, okay, just checking.”

* * *

The couch cushion felt blessedly cool on his cheek. Tim sighed and curled up, pressing himself more tightly into it. The sound of Bruce speaking in Japanese on the phone faded into dark oblivion.

He roused when calloused fingers brushed his hair back and a chilly wrist ghosted across his forehead. 

“Tim, sport. You’re sick as hell,” Bruce said softly. 

Footsteps retreated.

The click of a pressed button sounded louder than it should have.

“Mallory, cancel my three o clock. I need to take Tim home.”

“Noooooo,” Tim groaned into the blanket that had been draped over him at some point. “Don’t wanna. Dad and Dana are gone for the week.”

“I meant the Manor,” Bruce said. There was a rustle of pocketed keys. “Alfred would have my head if I dropped you off somewhere alone. Do you think you can walk?”

Tim peeled himself off the couch and sat blinking, bleary eyed, at the room around him. A wave of dizziness crashed over him and his stomach tensed.

“Dunno,” he said. “Yeah. Gimme…minute.”

“Hop on,” Bruce said, crouching near the couch. “We’ll take the service elevator.”

That meant only Mallory would see. Tim could handle Mallory. He rolled onto Bruce’s back and hung there, arms dangling limp.

“B, you’re the bes’,” Tim said. “‘member tha’ when I…when I puke on you.”

“Alright,” Bruce said, calmly. “Close your eyes, Tim. We’ll be home soon.”

“‘kay.”

* * *

Tim balanced the Mountain Dew on his head while he kicked at Bruce’s face. Bruce was trying to sip his tea on the couch next to Tim, who was sprawled on his back and doing his best to make Bruce’s life difficult.

Just because.

“—and she said, ‘how the heck does anyone fall asleep on a rollercoaster? You’re incredible,’ but like, not in a good way, and then I said, ‘finals have been kicking my butt,’ and she laughed like it was a joke but I couldn’t tell her it was because of the Riddler, and then I tried to y’know, get more into it? So I screamed on the rollercoaster when everyone else did, and we get off and she goes, ‘Tim, you scream like a girl,’ and I’m like, ‘listen, I wasn’t even scared,’ and she _laughed_ at me, like, I just can’t win.”

“Hnn,” Bruce said, with a knowing nod. He managed a sip of his tea.

“Anyway,” Tim said, “Next, we went on the—”

“Mr. Wayne?” The intercom on the desk interrupted. “The photo you wanted reframed arrived. Should I bring it in now?”

Bruce got up to go open the door. “I’ll take it, Mallory. Thank you.”

He opened the brown paper package while Tim flipped off the couch and came to look.

“Is it Selina? I bet it’s—oh.”

It was a photo of Tim, age twelve, with Bruce. Tim got quiet. 

“Damian broke the frame, didn’t he,” Tim said.

“He didn’t mean to…” Bruce started. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes. He’ll get better, Tim. Give him time.”

Tim swallowed and then picked up the picture. His haircut had been awful that year. 

“God, I bet I was annoying,” Tim said, as a gentle segue away from Damian. 

“Was?” Bruce echoed. “Are.”

Tim punched him lightly in the arm, with an offended _Hey!_

“You’re a pest,” Bruce said, blocking the next punch by catching Tim’s wrist and pulling him into a hug.

“Why did you put up with me stopping by all the time, then?” Tim challenged. He knew Bruce well enough to know a joke and it blossomed bright in his ribs to know that Bruce cared enough to joke around with him.

Knuckles scrubbed into his hair, followed by a quick kiss. Tim squirmed away, rubbing at his scalp.

“I looked forward to those days,” Bruce said. “Every one of them. I still do.”

“Oh,” Tim said, gulping and looking at the carpet. “Okay.”

“What do you want for lunch?” Bruce asked, rummaging in his desk. Tim knew he wasn’t really looking for anything. 

“I’m good with whatever,” Tim said with a grin. “You can pick.”


End file.
